Cold as Ice
by AmberZ10
Summary: There's more than one road to a medal. That Blades of Glory/I, Tonya AU that should have happened sooner.
1. Chapter 1

"Fuck!" Harley slammed her skate down on the bench beside her in frustration. "That bitch can suck my fucking dick."

Pam let her eyes wander to her competitor. The girl's blonde bangs stuck out of her ponytail, curling slightly over her forehead. The ponytail itself wasn't as tight as Pamela's was. It was sloppy, flyaways escaping every opportunity they saw. Pamela nearly scoffed aloud just looking at her. Though, she did appear decidedly more comfortable than Pamela was. Harley probably didn't have a headache every time she got off the ice. But pain is a natural part of figure skating. At least, that's what Pamela's coach had always taught her.

Her coach was squeezing her leg now, willing her to focus on more important things than Harleen Quinzel's infamously shitty attitude. She was the type to always believe she got a raw deal. Maybe she did, Pamela didn't know. She wasn't a judge. Harley skated with a lot of power. She could consistently land the triple axel, that made her special. Her strength was in her jumps. But she was graceless otherwise. The goal of figure skating was to make the impossible look effortless, and the ice look like water only you can glide upon. Harley didn't…glide. She skated like a gymnast. Perhaps that was the tradeoff for jumping like one too.

"That bitch" Harley had been referring to was named Selina Kyle, and she'd just passed Harley on the leaderboard, knocking the blonde into the silver medal position for the time being. Pamela was confident it would be the bronze after she bowed for the judges.

For the first time in Olympic history, the American women were projected to go 1, 2, 3 in the singles event. And as of this moment, with one more skater to go, it looked like they were about to pull it off. The experts had said it would be Selina at the top of the podium, Harley second, and that Pamela would win the bronze. But Pamela didn't want the bronze, she wanted the gold, and she was presently in the perfect position to win it. Harley had badly bobbled a landing on her second axle, going as far as to put her hand down on the ice, which counted as a fall, and earned her an entire point in deductions. Selina, meanwhile, had made the incredibly uncharacteristic error of dropping a full rotation on her toe loop, making what was supposed to be a triple only a double.

"Skate how you're supposed to and the gold is yours," Woodrue murmured. "At this point, the bronze would be a disappointment. Don't fuck this up for us."

 _For me_ , Pamela thought as she got to her feet. The last skater on the ice.

Harley didn't truly think Selina was a bitch. Actually, the three of them were rather good friends. They'd all roomed together on the last world cup circuit. Harley was just competitive, they all were. But it didn't surprise Pam when Harley reached for her hand when she walked passed, squeezing it as she looked up with those big blue eyes and said, her voice carrying every ounce of sincerity a human could possess, "Break a leg, Red."

Pam offered a smile and a soft squeeze in return. "USA."

Getting to her feet now, Harley grinned, leaning forward to kiss Pam on the cheek. Pam felt a heat spread below her skin, moving from her cheek down into her chest, taking root there and spreading from her toes to her fingertips. With a giggle, Harley plopped back down on the bench, and Pam could feel her eyes still fixed on her back(side?) as she walked away.

"The next competitor represents the United States of America. Pamela Isley."

Pam heard her name echo in the arena over the loud speaker. With a practiced calm, she slipped the covers off her skates and stepped onto the ice. The crowd cheered and she skated to the center, feeling her heartbeat quicken in her chest.

This was it. Just 4 minutes, 30 seconds, and a routine she could do in her sleep separated her from a gold medal.

"Don't fuck this up, Pamela." She whispered to herself, making sure to hide her mouth from the television cameras. "You're the best skater in the world."

Then her music started, and it was simply do or die.

Pamela had fallen many times in her life. She fell every day at practice, it was just part of the sport. She even occasionally fell in competitions.

This time, though…this was different.

She knew as soon as the edge of her blade hit the ice.

That's when her ankle buckled. And when she heard the crowd gasp with one collective breath, that's when she knew it hadn't just buckled, it had broken.

Pamela lay on the ice for what felt like hours (though she would later learn it was only seconds) waiting for the medical staff to realize she wouldn't be getting up from this one. Her ankle was bent at nearly a right angle, what the fuck was the matter with them? But, as Pamela looked, she realized the obvious broken bone wasn't the only problem with this picture.

Her skate was untied.

Her Olympic dreams had crashed and burned thanks to a fuckin shoelace.

 _Break a leg…_

How about an ankle, Harley?


	2. Chapter 2

Pamela hadn't ever…sat, this much, before. It was all she could do. Just sit. Lazily. Staring out at her garden.

Typically, working in her garden was how she decompressed outside of competition season. It was the only place she felt more centered, more in control than on the ice.

Now she couldn't do either. Not for a while, anyway. Not unless she wanted to hobble around out there on crunches, though the soft dirt made that nearly impossible.

Pamela had been diagnosed with a Bimalleolar Ankle Fracture, which was a fancy way of saying she was fucked. She'd required surgery to repair the two broken bones and ligaments in her ankle, and now her job was to sit and make sure it all healed at the perfect angle, if not, her ankle joint would be permanently out of alignment, and that invited accelerated arthritis. She'd already damaged the cartilage so severely that arthritis was not only likely, but probably imminent.

"Did you need anything before I go out?"

She hadn't heard her mother descend the stairs.

"No, thank you," Pamela replied, without removing her gaze from the garden.

There was no movement behind her. So Pamela waited.

Finally, her mother softly cleared her throat. "Aren't you hungry?"

"I haven't expended a single calorie today. How could I possibly be hungry?"

It was another moment before her mother took the hint and left her, exiting quietly out the front door. And Pamela stared on. It would be another 2 weeks before she'd be allowed a walking cast, and in that time, she'd have to watch her flowers die, helpless from behind glass.

Pamela lost track of time again, as she often did these days. Let the hours and minutes fold into each other, lull her away as her mind went quiet. Inactive, just like her body.

This time, she was pulled from her trance by a knock at the door. Her mother certainly wouldn't knock at the door of her own home. Was it her coach? Jason hadn't spoken to her since she got out of surgery. Perhaps he was finally here to talk about their plan moving forward. How Pamela would try to heal. But when she wheeled herself over to the door in the ridiculous chair her doctor had insisted she use, she discovered a most unwelcome visitor standing on her front porch.

"Hey, Red…" Harley scuffed her sneaker across the wood, her smile sheepish.

Harley was from Gotham City, same as Selina. That was on the opposite coast as Seattle. What in the world had possessed her to make the trip, she must have known Pamela wanted nothing to do with her.

So Pam just stared. Coldly, and perhaps a little dumbly.

"How ya holding up?"

"How am I holding up." Pam repeated, her words slow, as confused as they were disbelieving.

Harley nodded quickly, confirming that was her question. "You look skinny, you been on a diet?"

 _Yeah, it's called depression_. "What do you want?"

"Oh!" Harley looked a bit embarrassed. "Well me and Selina just got off the press tour. Finally got some free time, so we figured we'd head over and check up on ya."

Pamela looked passed the blonde to see Selina walking up the cobblestone path towards the porch, stylish as ever, but now shrouded in a gold medal glow.

"It's terrible, Red, what happened to you," Harley was saying. "We couldn't even believe it."

" _You_ couldn't believe it?"

"Hey, Pam." Selina had arrived. "You look thin. We're ordering a pizza."

"Pizza spots don't open til at least 11, Kitty," Harley reminded her.

"I'm a gold medalist. They can open for me."

Pamela would like to say she was disappointed fame and success had gone to Selina's head…but the woman had walked around with the air of an Olympian long before she made her first team.

Selina's dark eyebrows were raised now, questioning and expectant. "Well? You gonna let us in?"

"Pretty snazzy place you got here, Red." Harley was already pushing her way inside. "This where you grew up?"

"I—,"

Selina passed Pam's chair on the other side, and now Pam had to turn around to acknowledge them, as they were further inside her house than she was. "Woodrue come around yet? Are you going to be ready to go by next season?"

"He hasn't—,"

"Ooh! Red! Lookit—Selina! Lookit the garden!"

"Damn, that's some _Better Homes & Gardens_ type shit."

"Red, I didn't know you liked flowers!"

"…maybe a touch _Little Shop of Horrors_ …"

"Stop it!" Pamela finally screamed. "Stop talking and get the fuck out of my house!"

Harley and Selina's eyes grew wide with surprise, Harley going as far as to jump back.

"W—Pamela," Selina was clearly confused. "We're your friends. That was a nasty fall. We just want to make sure you're doing alright."

Pam was seething now, her jaw clenched tight. "You may very well be my friend, Selina. But you brought Harleen along with you, so now you both have to leave."

"Red?"

"Oh don't play stupid with me," Pamela snapped. "I know you untied my skate, you poor piece of Gotham trash. You knew if you kissed me I'd be on cloud-fucking-nine, too happy to pay attention to a goddamn shoelace. Was the thought of a bronze medal truly so terrible? So disastrous and embarrassing that you thought it was worth it to absolutely _ruin_ me and everything I've worked for?"

Harley's face was nearly the color of Pam's hair at this point, and her mouth was hanging open—mute.

"Whoa." Selina inserted herself between the two women. "What the fuck?"

"I'm done, Harleen," Pam continued. "Finished. It's over. With all the damage you did, there's no way I'll be able to generate the power for jumps. That's it. The best I can be is a fucking ice dancer at this point."

"Pammy, I—,"

"Don't insult my intelligence," Pamela snarled. "Just leave. Please. Before I phone the ethics committee."


	3. Chapter 3

Harley stared straight ahead, trying not to let her eyes drift to her driver.

Selina hadn't spoken a word to her since they'd left Pam's house.

Finally, Harley decided she couldn't stand the silence, and all but shouted, "Where the fuck does she get off, huh? Calling me trash. Which one of us has the medal and which one fell on her ass when it counted?"

Selina didn't respond, but then again, the question had been rhetorical anyway. Still, a little acknowledgement would have been nice.

The silence between them stretched once more, but this time, it was Selina who broke it. "Harley…"

"Yeah?"

"Harley, did you—,"

The blonde was offended before she even got the full question out. "How could you even ask me that, Kitty? Of course I didn't untie her skate. Would'a been career suicide!"

"—Kiss her?"

Harley stopped. "Huh?"

"Did you kiss her?" Selina repeated. "Before her skate?"

"Uh—well, I mean…Yeah, but just on the cheek."

Selina's jaw tightened, her hands flexing on the steering wheel.

 _Kitty's angry_.

"Harleen, you promised when I told you that—,"

"I didn't do nothin' wrong, Kitty!" Harley was already defending herself.

So Selina yelled. "I told you because I didn't want you hurting her by accident! What the fuck did you do, Harley?!"

"Nothin'!" the blonde insisted, even more fervently this time. "Ain't my fault she's a homo. Not like I'm gonna tell anybody. I promised I wouldn't."

Selina was shaking her head. "You fucked with her head, Harley."

"I didn't mean it! Honest! Red's my friend," Harley assured her. "I don't care that she's a homo. I'd never hurt her on purpose."

"God, stop saying that!" Selina slammed on her breaks at a red light. "You sound like such—,"

"What?" Harley challenged. "Piece of poor, Gotham trash?"

"Yeah," Selina agreed, honestly surprising Harley. "Yeah, that's what you sound like."

Tears began to mount behind Harley's eyes, her lip quivering. She'd never fit in in this sport. Not since she was a little girl. She'd never had the right hair or the right clothes, never the right costumes, not even now. Pamela and Selina were the only women she'd ever met who were able to look past that. Who said they were her friends. But it turned out, when the going got tough, they were exactly like all the rest of them.

"So, what? You think you're better than me?! You're from Gotham too, Selina."

"Yeah," Selina agreed. "But unlike you, I never let that gutter drag me down. Did you tell that idiot husband of yours about her?"

"About who?"

"Take a fucking guess."

"No." Harley clenched her jaw so she could literally lie through her teeth. "He doesn't know anything about anything, and he doesn't give a rat's ass about Pam Isley."

/

"Harley!"

…

"Harley!"

…

"Wake up, you useless cunt! Answer the fuckin' phone!"

Harley was napping in the bedroom.

The phone was in the living room.

Right next to Johnny.

Well, five feet away, which was evidently five feet too many.

Harley was still a bit jet-lagged, but she stumbled to her feet regardless, rubbing her eyes as she reluctantly pulled herself out of bed and headed towards the living room.

"Who is it?"

The phone was still ringing.

"Don't know." He sat forward, trying to see around her so his Grand Theft Auto performance would go unimpeded. "Didn't answer it, dumbass."

Harley was still a little disoriented when she picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Is this Harleen Quinzel?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"This is Vicky Vale from the US Figure Skating Federation."

 _Oh fuck._

/

She wanted to hit him. Wanted to hit him so hard blood came out of his ears. But she knew he would just hit her back harder. That's how it always went.

"What did you do?" Her voice shook with anger. "Goddamn it, Johnny, what did you do?"

"They can't prove I did anything."

He looked so smug when he said that. So…assured, it made Harley sick.

"You're so fuckin' stupid."

"What did you just say to me?"

"I said." Harley stood. "You, Johnny Kerr, are so _fuckin_ STUPID!"

Someday she'd figure out how to block that right hook.

Today was not that day.

/

"You understand this is your sworn statement? That everything you say here today will be recorded on a permanent record, and could later be held against you in a court of law?"

Harley nodded, though her concussed brain throbbed in her skull as she did. "I do."


	4. Chapter 4

"Your Honor, wait!" Harley could feel the tears beginning to form behind her eyes, sinking heavily in her throat. "I don't think—I think there's been a mistake. There's been a mistake. I didn't—it was him! I didn't know anything!"

"You can't prove that, Ms. Quinzel." His voice was so monotone. This was Harley's whole life and this guy didn't even care. "But we don't want this to be blown out of proportion any more than you do."

"Yeah, cuz you're coverin' your own asses!" Harley yelled.

"Ma'am, I will hold you in contempt—,"

"Contempt?" Harley would have laughed if not for the tears streaming down her face. "This isn't even a real fuckin' court! This is skating court! That's not even a thing."

"Ms. Quinzel." Even her lawyer was trying to calm her down now, but Harley wasn't having it.

"Skating's all I got, Mistah," she sobbed. "It's all I've ever been good at. I'll I've ever wanted to do. Skating is my whole life. You can't take it away from me for something my dumbass husband did."

"You're banned from single's competition. That's our ruling, and it's final. If you continue to protest, or go to the press about this, we will open up an official inquiry with the Olympics committee and have you stripped of your medal."

Harley felt like it took her about two days to stop crying after that. Two weeks to mourn the loss of everything she'd worked for. Everything she'd ever been. Everything that'd ever made her feel halfway decent about herself.

It was gone.

All of it.

But hey, at least she got to keep the medal. And she made damn sure not to keep the husband.

"You're gonna regret this, Cunt." He spat on her shoes as he walked out the door. She suspected he would have given her one more shiner for the road, if not for the cops waiting on the curb for him. Turns out restraining orders could be effective after all.

"Good riddance," Harley mumbled, slamming the door behind him.

/

Pam's leg shook when she attempted to give it all her weight, slowly lifting the other one in the air.

Sweat beaded her brow and her breath came out in forced huffs. She knew she needed to relax, but she was currently recruiting what felt like every muscle in her body to hold herself up.

She wobbled and she fell, landing hard on the wood floor, her repaired leg having given out from beneath her.

"Goddamn it!"

Her coach shook his head, walking a slow circle around her, but looking at the ground like he couldn't stand the sight of her sitting there. "You're a quitter."

"I'm not a—,"

"Don't talk back to me."

She didn't.

"I don't work with quitters. Or failures. You are both."

Pamela could scarcely force a word out of her throat. "Jason, I—,"

"You should have checked your skate, Pamela." He grabbed his jacket. "I suggest you find someone who's alright with mediocrity."

The doctors had said she'd never be able generate the velocity for a triple again—of any variety, and that skating at all would forever be painful. But Pamela couldn't accept that. She'd promised her coach she'd get back up again, work harder than ever, come back a vengeance.

But now she was alone. Sitting on the hardwood floor. Broken. Empty.

A failure who was more famous for a fall than any one accomplishment.

/

"But look! See?" Harley's energy was frantic. She was practically vibrating with excitement as she slid the paper across the table, nearly knocking Barbara's glass over in the process. "Singles events, Babs. _Singles_. There's nothin' in here about pairs, I read the fine print."

"Harley—,"

"Babs, come on! I still got a lot left in me! I got a few more medals to win, I can feel it! I just need a partner—and a coach. I need you, Babs. Please."

"Harley," Barbara tried again, hoping she wouldn't be interrupted this time. "I don't have a partner for you."

"But we could find one! Can't be that hard, can it?" Harley's eyes were so hopeful. "I'm a silver medalist! I mean, who wouldn't want to skate with me?"

Barbara sighed. "Harley, listen…"

"No, nuh-uh, I don't like that tone at all," Harley frowned. "Why aren't ya seein' the potential here? I don't get it."

Dick joined them before Barbara could respond, handing Harley her second round and taking the seat next to her. "You hear about Pam Isley?" he interrupted.

"I don't wanna hear nothin' about Pam Isley."

"No," Barbara ignored her. "Did they release the medical report?"

"Mhm," Dick nodded gravely.

"She's fucked, isn't she?"

"As good as gone." Dick took a somber swig of beer. "Ankle's never going to heal enough to really jump, and Woodrue just dropped her, that prick."

Barbara shook her head. "Fuck." If anyone knew what it felt like to sustain a career-ending injury, it was her. At least Isley wasn't paralyzed. There was still hope for her, it just sounded…painful. "This is what I mean, though, Harley," Barbara continued, finally addressing Harley's question. "There's a line of women waiting for a partner. And given her skillset, if Isley wanted to transition to ice dancing, she'd have a partner before you would."

Harley obviously took extreme offense to that. "What's that supposed ta mean?! You think she's better than me or somethin'?"

"Nope." Barbara shook her head. "Just different. She's a better dancer, Harl. More graceful on the ice, more feminine. She may not be able to land a triple like you can, but she'd be a lot easier to throw."

"Hey, FUCK YOU, Gordon."

"It's true, Harl," Dick backed her up. "You're a power skater. And in pairs, it's the men who generate all the power."

Barbara blinked, and Dick took notice.

"What?"

Barbara laughed at some private joke she was having with herself. "I just…I just had the craziest idea."


	5. Chapter 5

"I knew you lost your legs, didn't know you lost your fuckin' mind too." Harley knew that was a bit harsh, but seriously, Barbara Gordon clearly had a few screws loose. "You're either joking, dumb as shit, or…yeah, I hope you're jokin'."

"I'm not," Barbara intoned, sitting forward. "Think about it, Harl. Honestly. Isley weighs—what? 120? 110? I mean, we'd have to get you in the gym, but you could toss that around."

"Babs!" Harley yelled, drawing wandering eyes to their table. "She's the one that got me banned! She's the reason I'm in this mess to begin with! There's no fuckin' way I'm skating with her. And besides, she hates my guts! Oh, and she's a lady! Two ladies can't skate together, that's, like—I don't know, you can't do that! It's gotta be breaking some rule."

Dick was shaking his head. "No, it's too crazy to have a rule against it."

"Exactly!" Harley was beyond exasperated.

"Harley." Barbara reached across the table for her hand. "Pam Isley's got everything you don't. She's your perfect partner."

"It would change the sport forever," Dick added. "You want publicity? You wouldn't be able to get those vultures off your lawn if you skated with her."

"A comeback, a scandal, and an all-female team." Barbara leaned back, her mind reeling with the possibilities. "It's brilliant."

"No, it's crazy, is what it is," Harley disagreed.

Dick now had the same wild look in his eye Barbara did. "That's what they call you, right? And you just won a silver medal! Crazy is new, crazy is exciting. Crazy is you, Harley. I say embrace it."

Harley scoffed. "What do you know."

"A lot," Barbara reminded her. "We still have the third highest score ever recorded for a pairs team in the history of the Olympics. That's, I assume, why you wanted me to coach you."

She had a point.

 _Damn it._

/

 _Just spin, Pam, it's really that simple._

Her skate wobbled slightly as she tentatively lifted her left blade from the ice, relying on her right one to keep her upright. After a deep breath, she slanted her skate to the right, allowing it to guide her around in a circle.

Progress was slow. But progress was progress.

Perhaps Pamela Isley would never skate competitively again. But she could still skate, this proved it. Maybe she'd become a coach, focus on teaching and inspiring young children.

Like, she wasn't exactly great with young children, but in her defense, she'd never really been given the chance to be better. Only child, lesbian…the odds were sort of stacked against her.

But it couldn't be all that difficult, right? Teaching children the fundamentals of skating? Teaching them the right way, giving them the skills to succeed. That seemed like it could almost be rewarding.

Pam sighed as she completed another twirl. But it all still sounded a lot like failure and resignation to her.

"Don't forget your arms."

Startled, Pam wobbled, narrowly saving herself from a fall as she whipped her head around to find the owner of the voice.

Just outside the rink stood (sat) Barbara Gordon. Pair skating royalty. And the biggest sob story the ice had ever seen. That was strange. But even stranger was that Harleen Quinzel, Pam's newly minted arch-nemeses, was standing right beside her.

Pam didn't have time to do anything but look surprised before Barbara spoke again. "You have to keep your arms above your head on those twizzles. Since you shouldn't be falling in ice dancing, those little style deductions really add up."

"I'm sorry?" Pamela had come to a stop in the middle of the rink, refusing to move any closer to them.

"First, I thought pairs," Barbara continued. "But I hear that ankle can't withstand the landings. And believe me, landing a toss is just as difficult as landing a jump. Maybe more so."

"I'm n—what are you doing here?" Pam stammered, trying to sound like she had a handle on anything that was going on. "And what is _she_ doing here?"

"Ice dancing is the natural choice. Requires every ounce of your grace, ever ounce of your discipline, but is a hell of a lot kinder on that ankle." Barbara was still talking. "There are some lifts in there, definitely, but that'll be Harley's job. So what do you say?"

"What do I—w—," Confused and feeling oddly frustrated, Pam skated towards them, nearly slamming against the plastic barrier as she couldn't stop as hard as she would have liked to. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Geez, Pammy, language," Harley chastised. "We've got an opportunity for ya, alright? That's all. A chance for both of us. I don't know about you, but retiring into obscurity sounds pretty shitty at the moment. That's for old people. Or, you know, losers."

"Or paralyzed people," Barbara added. "Really, Isley, if you're planning to retire after an ankle injury, I'm embarrassed for you."

Pamela was at a loss for words. "Get the—get the fuck out of my rink!"

"Oh, no, this is a public rink. You don't got a fancy coach no more, remember?" Harley prompted. "But I do." She placed her hand on Barbara's shoulder. "And actually…now, so do you."

"I literally have no idea what either of you are talking about." Pam crossed her arms. "But you are about the last person I want to see right now."

Harley shrugged. "Tough luck. You're gonna be seeing a lot more of me. I hear ice dancing can get pretty…uh…intimate. Thought you'd be into that sorta thing. If it was with me."

The rage that boiled within Pam at that moment was clearly noticeable, because Barbara interjected before she could erupt. "Listen. I know you two are in a bit of a tiff. But if you want to win any medals, you're each other's best option. Pamela, Harley needs a partner for her ice dancing team, and you're not only the best option, but the only option, frankly."

"She untied my skate!"

"I did not! But you still got me booted from The Skating Federation!"

"I did not! You're a cheater and a liar!"

"And you're both starting to annoy the hell out of me!" Barbara screamed at them. "Regardless of your pasts, you're each other's best hope of a future. So get your shit together, put the drama behind you, or like Harley said, you'll both be retiring into obscurity."

"I would rather break both my ankles than share a rink with her," Pam spat.

"Harley already has a medal," Barbara reminded her. "At the very least, she'll be remembered as a winner. You, Pamela, will be just another tragic footnote in this sport's history. And sorry, honey, but I've got you beat on that front." She tapped the arm rest of her wheelchair. "You're better than a DNF, Pam, but only if you give success a shot."


	6. Chapter 6

Pamela watched out of the corner of her eye as Harley struggled to get her skate on. How someone could be an Olympic medalist and still have to kick her heel into the ground at least 4 times while cursing under her breath just to put a fancy shoe on her foot, was beyond Pam. And she was presently having some serious 2nd thoughts about allowing this woman to lift her up in the air, these thoughts distracting her from her own preparation process.

Harley finally noticed Pam's wandering eyes. "God, keep it in your pants, Isley."

Pam's ears got so hot so suddenly she was afraid steam might be escaping them. "Oh, honey, that ship sailed s—,"

"Aye!" Barbara interrupted them, wheeling into the locker room. "What's the hold up? I'm freezing my ass off out there."

Pamela stood, calmly explaining, "Harleen's skate is a bit tight. Seems she's gained weight." Then she left, heading towards the rink.

"Yeah! Muscle! So I can lift your fat ass!" Harley yelled after her.

Barbara sighed, already tired. "Let's go, Harley. I'm about to start regretting this."

Harley continued to cuss as she laced up her skates. "I ain't fat…"

"I know, Harl." Barbara was already wheeling herself away, refusing to offer the blonde any further consolation.

Pamela was stretching on the side of the rink when they emerged from the locker room, Harley following Barbara. "I can't believe you're actually training in that," she remarked, indicating Harley's sweatsuit, the one that looked like it'd been plucked from the wardrobe of an 80s boxing movie.

"It's comfortable, princess," Harley shot back. "Sorry I'm not a walking Lululemon ad."

Pam scoffed, running her hand over the symbol on her thigh, almost like she was reassuring herself. "These are Nike. I'm a professional athlete, not a yoga mom."

"For the love of god, get your asses on the ice!" Barbara wasn't being paid enough for this. "I'm begging you."

"Fine." Pam dropped her leg from where her ankle was resting on the rink's plastic siding. "But before she lifts me, I want an apology."

Harley actually laughed. "For WHAT?!"

"For torpedoing my career so thoroughly I've been relegated to lesbian ice dancing."

"You're a lesbian!"

"Personally." Pamela corrected. "Professionally, I had my picture on Campbell's Soup cans. They don't put lesbians on Campbell's Soup cans, so it looks like I'll be mooching off my parents' estate for the rest of my life.'

"Oh, geez, poor Pammy," Harley mocked. "Must be tough to have rich parents who—,"

"Will never accept me for who I truly am?" Pam guessed. "Who know why I've always been depressed off the ice but refuse to acknowledge the fact that I'm gay, in a sport that embraces gay men but is somehow still homophobic towards lesbians, and—,"

"Alright, alright, god," Harley cut her off. "We get it. You're sad. My ex-husband's a stupid son of a bitch who beat the shit outta me on the regular, so let's be sad together."

"And let's do it on the ice!" Barbara rather forcefully suggested, giving Harley a solid shove in the right direction.

"Ow, ok ok…." Harley obeyed, Pam following behind her, though a bit apprehensively.

Barbara positioned herself in the open entry way, so she could be as close to the ice as possible without her wheels actually hitting it. "Alright. Take a couple of laps as a warm up, but do it together."

"How?"

"Skate next to each other," Barbara clarified. "Try and skate the same speed. Watch each other's legs and make the same movements."

"We have two very different skating st—,"

"Tough luck!" Barbara didn't let Pam finish. "Ice dancing is all about moving as a unit. It's all very precise, and everything is judged on how synchronized you are. On the ice, you should look like one skater. If you can understand that concept, the sport is simple. But if you continue to skate like a bat out of hell, Harley, while Isley remains a lake fairy, then we're fucked. That's all there is to it."

"Barbara," Pam began, like her coach had been blind to the main issue here. "My legs are longer than hers."

"Yeah," Barbara acknowledged. "And hers are thicker. So she's going to have to lengthen her strides and slow down while you shorten yours and speed up."

Pam hated this event already. "Fine," she muttered. "Are you read—," but Harley was already on her way. _Off to a splendid start, I see._

/

Harley and Pamela unlaced their skates silently, both their breathing still heavy from exertion. Pamela hadn't done a full practice since the injury, and Harley…well…she'd put on weight. Muscle, yes, but that still took some getting used to.

"Pam…"

The redhead stopped, looking over at Harley who'd halted her movements.

"Pamela, I didn't untie your skate."

Pam didn't respond, just pulled her skate off and dropped it in her duffle bag.

"I guess you don't have to believe me," Harley sounded dejected. "But it's the truth."

Sitting back with a sigh, Pam asked, "What incentive would your husband have to ruin my career, Harley? He never seemed terribly invested in yours."

"How'd ya hear about Johnny?"

"The Skating Federation let me read your testimony."

Harley's expression soured. "Because you reported me."

"I didn't report you, Harleen," Pam revealed. "And that's my truth."

"Then who—,"

"You didn't answer my question."

Harley shook her head, busying herself with her skate once more. "Johnny's a guy. He was pretty, uh, territorial. You know how guys are."

"Only in theory," Pam almost smiled.

"Oh, right." Harley's face got red. "He just—look, he was an asshole. Got jealous over alotta stupid shit."

Pam was intrigued. "Jealous? Of me?"

Harley shrugged. "I just talked about ya a lot, is all. You and Kitty!" she quickly amended. "I never really had girlfriends before. Not in school or nothin', plus I dropped out at 15, so…yeah…anyway. You guys were real nice to me on the cup circuit. I guess he thought—who knows," she cut herself off. "Johnny's crazy. Ust'a be sure he was gonna kill me one day. But now I'm done with all that, so…" Harley grinned, but quickly pulled her lips over her teeth. "Sorry. TMI. I forgot we ain't friends anymore."

"Right." Pam stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Well, congratulations on the divorce then, I suppose." She offered a curt nod and then headed for the door, but was stopped by Harley's almost meek request.

"Wait! Hey."

Pam turned, one eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"Did you, uh, did you—maybe, I dunno, wanna get a drink with me or something tonight? A beer is a great way to ignore sore muscles," Harley laughed at her own joke.

"I don't drink." Was Pam's response. "But I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right, yeah. For sure. See ya tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

"If you drop me, I'm literally going to kill you."

"Pfft," Harley scoffed. "Like your scrawny ass even could."

"You just called my ass fat last week."

Harley started an impromptu lap around the ice, like she could skate away from her inconsistency. "Somethin's wrong with it," she shouted over her shoulder. "Just can't put my finger on it at the moment."

"Wow." Pam was doing her best to hide the legitimate offense she'd taken. "I knew you were a liar, but I didn't think you'd take your deception this far."

Barbara, who was staring blankly up at the ceiling, straight into the fluorescent lights, sighed. "Your ass is fantastic, Pamela. Harley, quit being squirrely."

"She threatened to _kill_ me, Babs!" Harley complained, stopping so hard in front of Pam that the redhead was showered with ice shavings. "If she wants to keep those pants dry, she better start encouraging me."

"I love how this is a conversation you could be having with each other," Barbara said, her delivery sardonic.

Pam vigorously wiped her pants down, her typically fair features scrunched to nearly an unrecognizable degree. "Can you even shoulder press 115lbs?"

"Hell yeah I can!" Harley puffed up. "For 10 reps, and I only gotta lift you three times, so I'm more than prepared."

"Fine," Pam acquiesced. "I trust you. There. That encouraging enough?"

Harley narrowed her eyes, skating backwards to her mark without breaking eye contact. "I guess we'll see."

Pam did not have a good feeling about this. But 10 reps. That was plenty. Harley had trained. She was her partner, for better or worse, Pam had to trust her.

…although, that little voice in Pam's head couldn't help but remind her that pressing a barbell above your head 10 times was a lot different than holding a human being there while wearing ice skates. And Harley could barely even put those on.

 _Fuck_.

Pam closed her eyes, taking a deep, centering breath. _You're fine. It's going to be alright._

"I got you," Harley said, her voice legitimately encouraging. "Trust me."

 _Trust her._

 _The one who's stupid husband—nope, nope. Task at hand._ This was a totally different relationship. Harley's success rested on Pam's now. They were a team. They would succeed together or not at all.

"Keep your back strong, Harl," Barbara instructed. "Let her do the work. You're going to intercept her at your chest, then all you have to do is catch and press."

"Got it, got it." Harley nodded, determination hardening her gaze. "Easy peasy."

"And Pam." Pam didn't look, just listened. "The strength for a jump comes from your quads, hammies, and glutes, not your ankle, alright? Your skates keep you moving, your power is in that ass."

Pam nodded silently. _OK_.

She could see the panic in Harley's eyes as she approached. Pam got the height…Harley just wasn't quite able to…catch, her.

Pam's skull cracked down hard on the ice after slipping _right through_ Harley's outstretched arms.

"Oh shit!" Harley panicked, kneeling down beside her.

"Jesus, Harleen," Barbara groaned, turning her wheelchair around and aiming it in the direction of the locker rooms.

"Pam!" Harley was yelling right in her ear. "Pamela, can you hear me?!"

"Fuuuuck….you…Harley." Pam moaned in pain, sitting up slowly. "I think I have a concussion."

"Oh God." Harley was practically in tears at this point. "You're bleeding! Pam, your cheek!"

Confused, Pam rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand, then examined it to find her lipstick was smeared all over it. "That's makeup, dumbass. Take a deep breath."

Harley tried to do as she was told, holding it in her chest until her cheeks bugged out and her lungs screamed.

"I said breathe!"

"Here." Barbara was back, and was tossing something at Pam. It was plastic, and skidded across the ice until it lay by her side. "For safety."

Pam blinked, clearing the fog away from her eyes to realize it was a helmet.

A red one.

With yellow flames on the side.

"I'm not wearing that."

"Your IQ's already dropped 8 points today. Strap that fucker on."

"Wait…" Harley had finally calmed back down. "Why are you wearing makeup for a training session?"

"And why are you _obsessed_ with me?"

/

"Go!"

Pam skated forward, a bit more gingerly this time.

Harley kept her hands closer to her body, as she'd been instructed...

They were just…a little _too_ close.

The blonde crumbled to the ice when Pam kneed her directly in the gut.

"Shit, sorry!"

"Pam! Language!" Barbara chastised. "Go again. Tuck those knees."

Harley was coughing.

"I think she needs a minute," Pam observed. "…are you OK?"

Harley raised a shaking hand, offering an unconvincing thumbs up.

/

Pam tripped, sliding into Harley's skates and taking her legs out from under her.

Barbara buried her face in her hands. "You have to at least make it to her, Isley."

/

"Higher, Pam! Eat pussy, don't be one."

"What?!" the redhead dragged herself up off the ice, offering her hand to Harley.

"I don't know," Barbara admitted. "I was trying to encourage you in terms you would undertand."

/

"Goddamn it, Harley."

/

"Harley! Keep your hands out of her crotch!"

/

"No, Harley! Don't skate away from her!"

/

"Back strong, arms close….and….lift! Yes! ….No!" Barbara amended as they toppled over, Pam landing on top of Harley.

Pam didn't move immediately, just panted into Harley's neck, officially exhausted.

"Uh…Pam?" Harley inquired. "Your—hehe—your breath tickles."

The redhead groaned, the sound coming from somewhere low in her throat as she clambered off the other woman, though she only made it as far as her knees, the energy to get up completely escaping her.

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "You OK there, Harl?" she was referencing the color in Harley's cheeks and the way she was awkwardly adjusting her sweatpants.

"My pants are wet—the ice got my pants wet. I'm wet from the ice. The stuff I'm sitting on."

Pam was too tired to pay attention to her partner. "I think I'm going to have to call it a day. I've got a migraine, probably from a concussion, and this helmet is quickly eating away at my self-esteem."

"Yeah," Harley agreed, yanking herself upright. "That helmet looks really stupid."

"Eat me," Pam spat.

"That's not the expression, Pam."

Pam glanced over at her coach, puzzled. "What is it, then?"

"It's 'bite me'," Barbara told her. "What's your name?"

"N…Nancy Kerrigan?"

Barbara let out a long breath. "Get her to the showers, Harley."

"I'm not—I'm not taking a shower with her!" Harley sputtered.

Barbara cocked her head, feeling like she was missing something. "No one…asked you to?"


End file.
